Ria and Weep
by soulzen
Summary: With an over bearing government oversight, sensational but meaningless journalism breeds like muck fleas in the gutters of Knockturn Alley. Thus, journalism was something Albus Dumbledore never really had to worry about it in his secret war. Well, that was the case until a spunky American gets his most recent DADA hire extradited. Best keep an eye on this one. OCx?


**Prologue: To Look Within, Look Out**

* * *

If one wanted anonymity in magical Britain; one does not seek refuge in The Leaky Cauldron. Where despite the rowdy behavior of its patrons may allow for one to move about at their own leisure, it also affords their enemies the backdrop to move around as _they_ please. Nor does one visit Cuppa Rosa, a side venture of Rosa Lee Teabag. Due in part to the high concentration of affluent and bored housewives with the propensity to multitask quite well in both the activity of sharing and listening for gossip, and not at all to the garishly decorated tearooms of lace, knit blankets, and periwinkle decor.

Not at all.

No. If one sought anonymity in this time and place, the only destination they would need to find themselves in is in the humble establishment of Dame Verre's Inn.

A bit past the intersection of where Diagon Alley and Carkitt Market met, a forgettable visage of cracked dull gray brick with a lovingly worn powdered blue walnut door, is marked by an equally worn wooden sign with the faded lettering spelling out Verre in long droopy cursive. This would have even a well-versed frequenter of the Alley walk pass. Drawn to the loud crowded market only a few yards away in search of more fantastical interesting goods imported from other far reached equally fantastic magical communities. But the well-informed could see pass the boundary between the dusty bustling streets of Diagon Alley and the dull gray brick way; into the lovely warm hues of cream, pastel, and gold held within.

Upon entry, guests are embraced by wafts of fresh air waltzing upon a melody of floral tones. From the softness of the West Nile White Bliefs; to the sharpness carried by the blooming Rose Rope; a welcomed reprieve from the chaotic clash of smells that drifted out of the market. Accompanied by the soft babbling of water as it tumbles around the lobby in little glass tubes, feeding into all the plants around the large open-air lobby. One would be hard put not to be lost in the appearance of the Inn. However charmingly enough, this would not the first thing you would notice upon entry.

Instead charmed metal sparrows tweet and bustle about from wooden arbor to plush cream benches to trestle. Intent on keeping all the magical pests, both human, beast and flora, in line with either its charming songs or by way of sharp beak.

While the handful of witches and wizards staff dressed in warm grey uniforms worked in tandem chat with the few lingering guests in dark robes that stayed into the evening to enjoy the labor it took to design the array used to create the space of the lobby.

Frozen in time, on top of a golden grass knoll and beneath a large oak arbor, the warm buzz of magic as the array maintain its illusion became a lovely backdrop to the whispers of conversation. Where the sun seemed to always just about softly kiss the horizon, surrounding the inn's patrons in a whole array of soft muted colors. The soft blues of day, merging with the sharpening pinks and purples of a promised night. Where the hard-crisp brown oak beams creating the outline of the arbor seem to diffuse in the languish arms of red Rose Rope and the branches that carried the lavender flowers of a Weeping Wisteria. Something that could not have possibly been contained behind the nine by seven feet brick wall that made up the face of the Inn. But exists non the less, thanks to the complex interweaving rune work done to the foundation and every brick used to build the facilities.

The front desk, a hunk of mahogany nestled between wooden columns, is manned by the owner herself, Dame Verre. An elegant woman of refined taste and assumed bastard origin, standing tall became a familiar but powerful silhouette amongst all the pastels and creams reflecting over every surface in her black Victorian-esqe dress, even amongst the speckles of grays and dark colors that made up her guests and employees.

It would of all been considered so very romantic, if the damn thing wasn't built on secrets, blood, and trade.

Because hidden in hallways decorated with paintings, and in places obscured by flowers, or otherwise behind some surfaces was an obscene number of mirrors. With only a quarter acting as entrances to their own pocket dimension. Whether it was a pool, a bar, or bedroom. These pocket dimensions were only available to a select few powerful acquaintances in politics, crimes, and society. A place to act as meeting halls, or places to ferment ill thought out flings, and on occasion an easy place to dispose of a body.

So, it was not curious that on this day as summer founds it way to another end, in one mirror placed on the back of a painting of a woman in a vibrant green gown, framed in birch and inlaid with gold, a woman sits alone in a bar. And even in this dimly lit bar beneath the night sky, a chorus of crickets playing softly. The dark green of her dress still manages to catch the light in its golden flakes. Her only company the bartender, a man with slicked blond hair and brown eyes dressed in a white button up, black slacks, and a deep leather brown apron; offering up polite conversation. Though playing with her hair, her hazel eyes reflects the true boredem as she messes with her drink.

But curious did it became when the privacy the Inn advertises to the people of power and held so highly in opinion was broken by a new player.

"Miss Daye." a new voice that felt like itchy wool on her spine, called from behind the woman at the empty bar. The shadow of a figure breaking through the muted colors of the room in tandem with the voice, growing by the light of the crack he left behind in the Inn's entrance as he enters the bar.

Her posture straightens slowly, like a languish cat rudely awaken, carrying a palpable air of annoyance at the interruption of her precious time, but hides it by taking a long slow sip from her glass. Using the moment to peer at this interloper in the reflection of the bottles of liquor on the wall. Eyeing the elderly man in purple robes who appears all too amused by her precaution as he catches her eye much to her annoyance.

Lowering her finished glass to the bar with a heavy clunk, the ice shaking in its confine. She sighs as the slow burn makes its way down to her stomach, warmth radiating throughout her body. She takes her time to enjoy the feeling before responding with a sharp edge in her tone, "Don't suppose if I had said 'no' you'd leave me alone, now would you Dumbledore?"

Smiling at the young woman's prickly nature he responds kindly but with no less of his own edge, "No, I don't think I would have." In a tone that is all too clear in the annoyance and the underlying consequences he'll bring to her if she tries to run away from this conversation.

He makes to sit at the empty stool to her left, until she interrupts him with a brisk, "Occupied."

Chucking to himself he then makes his way to sit at the empty stool to her right. The bartender quickly settles a cup of warm black tea with blood orange liqueur in front of him and turns to leave the two to their conversation.

Stopping the bartender before he can leave, Daye pointedly stares at the man tapping her glass 3 times. Nodding the bartender responds by reaching over to the shelf to grab the bottle of bourbon and leaves it within her reach, before then drifting off to the other end of the bar to busy himself by polishing some glasses. "Well, what devil do I owe my soul to now, to get you to leave me alone." Daye replies to the growing silence, as she grabs for the bottle of bourbon to pour herself another glass a bit taller than normal.

Dumbledore says in cheerful mischief, "No devil, my dear. No soul either I'm afraid. Just-", pausing to take a moment to sip his tea, he continues with a twinkle in his eye, "-here for an opportunistic chat."

Catching that glint from her peripheral, Daye hides her defensive lean away from the man as she twirls her glass of bourbon at eye level, "I highly doubt I would see it that way. My time away from work is few and far between Dumbledore. I don't see any opportunity in losing that time." She ends by taking a deep sip.

"Ah quite right. Please forgive this old man, my eyes aren't what the were 10 years ago. But perhaps you are 10 years too young to see an opportunistic moment come into view."

With a scoff into her glass as she places it down on the bar she turns and openly stares at him to say, "Is that right?"

Without turning, as he was enjoying his tea, he says with some air of control, "It is quite a curiosity to see someone of your repute in the States to be so far away from home."

Daye responds with nothing at the obvious. Instead she turns away from staring at Dumbledore's profile angrily to return to the sight of the bottom of her glass. Mistaken her rage for acceptance he takes her silence to continue.

"As you'd say, your time is precious. And I doubt you'd want to spend those moments so far from comfort. I'd wager Miss Daye you've got a whiff of a larger story as I envision, any appearance of yours outside your normal territory as a warning to all that there are secrets being unwounded."

Finishing her 2nd glass of the evening, she responds hotly as it hits the bar with the shudder of ice, "Is that all you've come to talk about? My work? Dumbledore," she says mockingly, "if you were a fan you could have sent me a letter, in which I would have my assistant immediately discard and you wouldn't be wasting your and my time."

With a smile that hides the danger in the sparkle of his eyes, Dumbledore says, "I admit your work did cross my mind ever so briefly-"

Daye echoes the word "briefly" in offense as she reaches to pour herself another glass, but Dumbledore pays no mind as he continues.

-"during my discussion with the Ministry on how to handle extradition of my now ex-employee to MACUSA, and your testimony on the matter."

"Oh, did it now?" she says humoring him, leaning her elbow onto the bar to rest her head on her hand.

"The journalist at the Daily Prophet have … so to speak, dulled the edges of their quill in passing years." Dumbledore responds charmingly as though he was just there to trade in gossip, he turns to meet her eyes.

"Yes," she drawls out in agreement, before raising her glass in cheers, "to mediocrity, in which without I would scarcely find the trouble for the truth I seek," to then downing half its contents, her mirth echoed in the satisfyingly deep sigh that followed.

Humoring her, Dumbledore also raises his glass and takes a deep drink from his teacup.

After a quiet second between the two as they enjoying their drink, Alexandria let out a casual remark tilting her head as she does, "So, is that what you interrupted me for, Dumbledore? A bit of camaraderie over the death of freedom of speech and the like?"

"Not…in its entirety Miss Daye. With the legal proceeding of the extradition of my previous DADA prospect, I unfortunately find myself without a complete teaching roster for the coming year."

The slow buzz that had been growing behind her eyes slowly faded and the low lighting of the room reflected dangerous in her eyes as a toothy smile made its way onto her face, "My how quickly did the jinx enact this year."

Instead of the previous content quietness, a suffocating blanket of silence made its presence known hushing the crickets. To be quietly replaced by the frantic squeaking of glass being cleaned as the bartender frantically tries to censor the silence of knowledge being wielded around the room like a competent beater with their bat.

Dumbledore says with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "I had no idea the gossip of school children, would retain in such a prominent figure of US society."

Flipping her hair over her shoulder she crosses one leg over the other with a lazy grin, "I do my research Dumbledore. And I had found it oh so very interesting that despite having access to one of the most brilliant teams of Curse-Breakers the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor still remains unobtainable to those seeking tenure at your institute."

The room gets colder still as Dumbledore refuses to respond with anything other than a gentle smile. The weight of the room gets heavier, the bartender fleeing to a backroom.

Allowing the haze of alcohol to return to her eyes she nonchalantly continues, "Of course, it has nothing to do with what brought me here, as I'm sure you know; but it is, how you say, a curious influence on to the Britain's Magical Community, none the less. It's a fascinating mystery. I had hope to the stay here a bit longer to explore it a bit, but my publicist is intent on bring home after the trial."

With the unwavering gentle smile still plastered on his face Dumbledore "Then perhaps I can satiate your curiosity with a proposition."

Surprised Alexandria lets out a small, "Oh."

"An opportunity to stay the year." Dumbledore begins, "Miss Daye, your journalistic career has given you quite the resume. The only mortal observer to the union between the Wester and Dunver Covens. A key player in the downfall of a budding Scourer band in the Deep South. As well as experience as field reporter documenting the civil unrest between MACUSA and the First Wielders in Alaska. Not to mention countless other experiences around the world, has undoubtedly developed quite a sharp mind and wit suitable to explaining defensive techniques."

Alexandria snorts loudly, ignoring the burning sensation in her nostrils. She does nothing, content in being showered in her achievements.

Taking out a folder from between his robes and laying it flat on the table, he ends by saying, "I'd like to hire you for the empty DADA position at Hogwarts for the approaching school year."

A pause and letting out a bellow of a laugh, Alexandria leaning against the back of her stool barks out clutching her chest and slamming a hand down onto the tabletop, "You must be joking! The beginning of the school year is in 2 weeks. And in that time, I've got meetings with Aurors and politicians from both MACUSA and the Ministry about that goldilocks fellow, which god knows how long it may take. Not too damn well mention negotiations with the European branch of Tome Era Publishing Company. And you want me to teach? Come up with a teaching plan in 2 weeks? Having to deal with hormonal and snobby brats for 10 months? HAH. No, absolutely not. I'm way to busy. I have way too many errands to run and drafts to send in." Waving her hand at the old man dismissively she says with tears of mirth in her eyes, "So off you go, you mad man. Go sell your wares someplace else."

With a snort she returns to her drink. When she quickly find it empty of its contents, she instead leans over grabbing the neck of the bottle and taking a swig of its contents. Letting her mirth bubble.

Chuckling Dumbledore finishes the rest of his tea and says with a knowing smile, "I do suppose you have things to do."

Pausing the mirth growth in her belly, a thoughtful expression grows on top of her

"Well I can't say I didn't at least try. Do at least give it a thought my dear, you may find your next story in the most unlikely of places." Dumbledore says, leaving the folder of paperwork besides her. Rising from his seat, dropping 4 galleons and 9 sickles on the table with a clatter.

Completely aware of the weight of the room was more or else caused because of him he walks away unhindered, with light and airy step as he can considering his age. His shadow growing the closer he gets to the mirror exit. But just before he breaks through the boundary between the bar and the Inn proper, he hears the meaty slam of glass, and the sloshing of liquids.

In a loud annoyed voice hand still gripping the neck of the bottle, she says leaning back in her seat not bothering to face the old meddling wizard, "I'll have my people talk to your people."

Not bothering to face the misguided brat, Dumbledore in exchange smiles to himself and responds in kind, "I look forward to it."

And with a ripple as the mirror bends around his form, he takes his leave.

* * *

With Dumbledore's exit the pressure created by two stubborn magical beings competing in a game of wit for the knowledge each one guarded lightened, and the bartender felt brave once again to venture within reach of his last patron a pepper up potion in hand.

Whistling to voice out his how impressed he was in how the whole meeting went, which was to say not at all, but it looked like she could use some unfound courage. He says as he pockets his tip and completes Dumbledore's transaction, "You sure are digging a mighty fine hole there Alexandria, you thinking about dying in there or something? You leaving me anything good?"

Groaning the American known as Alexandria Daye seemed to deflate over the bar's table once again, "May the faith preserve me, Rodney. I will spill every single piece of dirt I have on you to your ma if you don't shut up." Ending her threat by placing the cold glass of bourbon on to her forehead, as she closes her eyes to complain loudly, "I'm so fucking old. I don't think my heart can handle Dumbledore. Help me you bastard." She ends making grabby hands for the potion.

Which of course the bartender dubbed Rodney ignored in favor of getting answers from one of his oldest friends holding the potion as a hostage, "Well if you didn't want to talk to Dumbledore, why'd you give mum the okay to let him enter? I mean we've got standards here at Dame Verre's Inn, you paid quite a fee for this privacy-"

"And he paid quite a fee to _interrupt_ that privacy too." Alexandria groaned, dropping her head to her arms as they rested on top the bar. Letting out a muffled 'you're late' as the words that mark the entrance of a new patron were punctuated by the sound of a large sack of coin being dropped onto the table. A young man, barely reaching adulthood, with gangly limbs, grey eyes, and a head of gravity defiant black hair, quickly plopped himself to Alexandria's left and began to reach over her for the bottle of bourbon and its left-over contents.

Which in turn was snatched violently away from him by Alexandria along with the sack of coin, in time to Rodney slamming a pint of butter beer in front of him. Glaring at the boy, daring him to even try in his establishment.

Responding with a cheeky grin he clutches the mug of beer with both hands in an attempt to appease the bartender that he wouldn't cause any trouble with his hands full.

Then turning to Alexandria to say, "Dame Verre says this is your half, and she also would like to note," coughing to clear his throat before continuing in a high haughty French accent, "I am French, adulterous behavior I can handle. Criminal syndicates. No issue. But I swear child," at this the boy lifts up his glass threateningly at Alexandria spilling a bit of its contents onto the bar, "if you bring that brown nose light wizard in here again, even if to con him out of a few galleons I will make you good on your tab." He laughs and take a swig out of his drink.

Rodney lets out a desperate sigh and as he finishes cleaning the spilt beer with a dish rag and under his breath says, "Why do I even bother with you two?"

Magicking the soggy towel dry, before rolling it up and slamming it against that back of the boy's head. Which only causes the boy to snort a lung full of butter beer, leaving him to cough up the liquid in heavy heaves and gasps.

Effectively silenced.

Rodney returns his attention to Alexandria. Who has been readily ignoring the duo in favor of observing the coins Dumbledore left.

"Merlin, Dri. But Dumbledore? Are you insane? The depth of that man's pockets, and the reach he has?" With those questions ignored. He leans over the bar, invading Alexandria's space until she looked him in the eyes before he rumbles out, "What are you playing at woman?"

She looks down and silently picks out three dull gold galleons from the pouch and holds them up so he can see.

At first glance they look just like any other piece of currency. Until he notices the serial number stamped around the edge.

They were in sequence.

Looking up at her. The duo up ends the entire bag of coin onto the bar in a clatter of metal and wood drowning out the crickets into silence; and begins to organize them by serial number. Joined moments later by the boy when he manages to catch his breath.

After a half hour of work the trio stands back to look in astonishment at the nearly perfect line of in sequence by serial number galleons, reflecting mockingly at them a possible criminal explanation.

"Fuc-" The boy begins, but is cut off by the crisp reprimand of Alexandria's, "Leon."

Glancing up at his mentor, whose eyes remain glued to the line, and Rodney's blank stare, he begins again, "Effin hel-." Caught up by the sudden stare of the 2 adults in the room he pointed say, "Effin h-e double broom sticks." He repeats the last bit louder again, "H-E Double Broom Sticks," waving his hands at the line to make his point that his cursing was currently not the main issue.

However, the witch and wizard continued to stare the boy, with a solution far more obtainable then the madness they've stumbled upon. Until the glitter of gold draws back their attention.

The room grows quiet again, before Rodney says with a sigh, "Mum's ain't going to be pleased about that bribe." Turning around and reaching up to the shelf to grab a bottle of 16th century Fire Whiskey, hands shaking as he does so. Taking extra care to pours three shots (well more like 2 and 1/8th) and divvying them up between the three of them.

They take their shot in silence as soon as Rodney Bookended by Leon whisper of, "What now?" looking at Alexandria with for once the look of youth on his face.

"Firstly," snatching the pepper up potion from where Rodney dropped it in making sure her ward didn't become a useless alcoholic and chugging it down, "you're going back home." Disregarding the quick retorts of anger from the young man, Alexandria says as she picks up the folder Dumbledore left, fanning it back and forth, "I on the other hand," wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and grinning enthusiastically, "have some digging to get going on. And apparently," slamming the folder onto her hand with a frown, "a school year to plan."

* * *

**Author's Note:**Evening all.

Soulzen here.

I mean who else would it be right? It's the year of the prologue and we're approaching the end of the year with the prologue of my _second_ story.

Heheheh

Heheh

…

*turns away from crowd* I'm so insecure. Finding a job is proving a testament to my patience and sanity. It's so depressing. I can't write, but look I wrote something so that counts as something. I guess.? *turns back to crowd*

HHAAHHAHA haha….hah

Anyway author updates can be found more frequently on my profile. And we'll see if I can't post more prologues for the year, and update A Phoenix's Fall.

**Fanfic Suggestion: **Memoirs of a Suicidal Pirate by Marshmellowtime

Getting murdered while trying to kill yourself is bad luck. Getting reincarnated after that is just a bad joke. But Toonami reruns and cheap commissions info have taught her this world has plenty of chances to get yourself killed. It can't be that hard. "So you're actually trying to die?" "Yes." "You know you're his nakama now, right?" "So?" "...Good luck with that." Oc/?

It's a One Piece fanfic and its sooooo well written. Like extraordinarily so. It's in the title, but you know still, trigger warning about suicide. It may also be a bit off putting to some as well considering how the character feels about suicide and her own death. But its an interesting perspective on the idea of mortality, for me it's a gem of a fanfic.

**Following Fic Chapter Update: **I have an idea of what I want to do but like I said this is the age of the Prologue. So, we see when we see yeah?


End file.
